


Meeting of Un-Like Minds

by D20Owlbear



Series: Love and Joy and Happiness [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Priests, And there's a difference between letting others choose your path than picking one yourself, Aziraphale might be content but he's not happy, Aziraphale might not know that yet but he's sure going to learn, Crowley really is just that striking, M/M, Priest Aziraphale (Good Omens), Priest Crowley (Good Omens), gayforgoodomen's priests au, poor bugger fell in love at first sight and didn't even know it, unbetaed we burn like the bentley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26687722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: Father Fell has lived a decent life, he's been mostly content and happy with how it's gone, of course. He must be, because this is the life God has given him, and since he's gone without any true hardships, then it must be Good, of course.And then he is introduced to Father Crowley (who's nottechnicallya Father, but good enough for Bishop Gabriel!) and is struck dumb, at least for some moments. Life, it seems, is about to change.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Love and Joy and Happiness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938955
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85
Collections: Clerical Omens





	Meeting of Un-Like Minds

**Author's Note:**

> Once more, please go visit[@gayforgoodomens](https://tmblr.co/mGIqHiSjvPFXNFsgX2A7P8g)’s au which this is based on! [pt1](https://gayforgoodomens.tumblr.com/post/629969871731671040/gayforgoodomens-anyway-lemme-tell-you-about-my) [pt2](https://gayforgoodomens.tumblr.com/post/629989036495421440/priests-au-pt-1-priests-au-pt-2) [pt3](https://gayforgoodomens.tumblr.com/post/630078611033096192/priests-au-pt-1-priests-au-pt-2-priests-au-pt)

Aziraphale held his favorite bible in his hand, it was a smaller, plain thing that he liked to keep on him. It was well-worn, well cared for, and utterly falling apart. It had always been falling apart, from use and age, and had been passed down in the Fell family from diocesan priest to priest so it would stay within the same parish to serve them as the Fell family often claimed they were compelled to do.

Aziraphale Zachariah Fell wasn't compelled to follow in the footsteps of the diocesan priests before him so much as he fell into it. He'd gotten through his A-levels then gone to a perfectly respectable university in Chichester and muddled happy as a duck through a Philosophy and Ethics degree for a handful of years. Afterward, he'd drifted a little, returned back home, and helped his mother deal with a funeral and then simply… never left. His brothers, all married at that point, of course, and well on their way to contributing to the pool of young catholic children just as they ought, nudged him towards seminary.

So he went with little protest. He left the house and stayed within the same diocese he'd always lived in and continued his education in seminary for the requisite years, and even took the gap year ( _"Come on, Ezra, you're no fun! Everyone does it!" "My name isn't Ezra."_ ) to trundle through France, especially Brittany and occasional jaunts to Paris, enjoying the food and the people who were far too kind even though his abysmal French never quite improved. Aziraphale loved people, he loved meeting new people and knowing they were loved, he loved them too and fancied that he was the sort to fall in love with the ideas of people too. It was all rather Romantic, in the literary sense, and the whole year had been lovely.

Then he returned and completed his last degree and was assigned back to his home as a priest to the parish, had been for some time now and had mostly been on his lonesome other than the parish themselves. And that was alright, he said to himself out loud when others asked it of him and quietly under his breath when the halls of the church he served in echoed with a deafening stillness in the dark of night when he was alone. He was alone, Aziraphale said, not lonely.

But sometimes, when he could not sleep, he knelt at the altar and prayed for God to deliver him from the loneliness. It was not right of him, he beseeched God, for him to be so filled with the Lord's holy Love and to be so loved by the parish around him and bolstered by their sincere faith and yet still so bereft. And in the mornings he did his best to forget he'd ever asked. His duties were to adhere to his vows of celibacy and obedience, neither of which were difficult things for him. The rest of the world passed so quickly it felt like he was often left behind, meandering at his own pace and unable to keep up except within the walls of the church he resided in which were as old as he felt, the masonry growing moss and ivy across its arches and crannies.

"Father Fell," Bishop Gabriel smiled in a way that must certainly have been pleasant, but caught Aziraphale off guard. Had he missed something? Was the Bishop here meant to be expected today? But no, he didn't look annoyed at Aziraphale's surprise…

"Have you met our new priest, Father Crowley?" The Bishop continued to smile, large and in a way that was surely inviting if only Aziraphale had asked someone else, but he could only imagine that voice calling him Ezra and it grating on him in seminary before the slightly older, ambitious man graduated from it.

Aziraphale transferred his falling-apart-bible carefully to a single hand to prepare for a handshake, but stopped short. The man– Father Crowley stood and rubbed at the back of his neck before looking up to meet Aziraphale's eyes. There was a lance like lightning that shuddered through him as his gaze followed the Bishop's gesture to the man behind him. Lean and tall, lanky in a way that spoke of wiry muscle and a certain intensity in too-light brown eyes that shone like molten gold the way the light from the stained glass in the windows hit them. He could not have stopped the thought from passing through his head that this must be what meeting Christ was like, seen to the core of him and found wanting but simultaneously as if he could do better, be better, for no reason other than the man before him would demand it of him with a soft voice and kind words that drained the soul's wounds of the filth that grew there.

"I– no, I haven't had the pleasure." Aziraphale stuttered and was unable to move forward nor to offer his hand as he ought.

"Th' pleasure 's mine." Father Crowley murmured and stepped forward, altogether too close and too much entirely for Aziraphale, and stuck out his hand. It was only the engrained years of politeness in situations he'd rather not be in that let Aziraphale's body reciprocate and reach out to grasp his hand. The lightning-feeling was back and Aziraphale's heart pounded in his chest. Bishop Gabriel seemed to be happy enough with their meeting to leave with a jaunty little wave, as if Aziraphale's shock was not written blatantly across his face.

"Wait, wait," Aziraphale said in trembling voice, but the Bishop was far enough gone he couldn't, or wouldn't hear, and so he was forced to make a fool of himself in front of the new Father.

"I must beg your pardon," Aziraphale sighed heavily and carefully closed the bible after extracting his hand carefully from Father Crowley's firm, rough, warm, welcoming grip, "But I hadn't been informed there would be a new priest for this parish…" He let the implication lay.

Father Crowley only shrugged casually, pulling Aziraphale's gaze to his shoulders in the too-tight button-up shirt, and shoved his hands into his front pockets, which drew Aziraphale's gaze downward to his trousers, also far too tight. "More of a deacon, me, than a priest. Didn't go to seminary, but Bishop Busy-body didn't let me explain it, 's all." He grinned wickedly and the lighting lingering in Aziraphale's chest settled into a warm hearth-fire by his heart, hiding a laugh with a shocked look.

"You oughtn't speak of the bishop that way!"

"M I wrong?"

"I– well… I suppose not."

"Well, there we are. Wouldn't be surprised if I'm Father officially on things though, but I got assigned here to you 'cause of the extra rooms here in the parsonage. You live here, yeah? Even though you didn't have to take a poverty vow?" Father Crowley's eyes were far too sharp and knowing for Aziraphale's comfort, so he turned and beckoned for the man to follow. He could still feel his gaze, but it felt safer than meeting it, watched but not so flayed-open _seen_ as before.

"Yes." Aziraphale replied in the quiet of the afternoon, their footsteps the only other sound once Bishop Gabriel's car could no longer be heard outside, "I do."

**Author's Note:**

> In Aziraphale's life, he's a very passive force, yes, and he's mostly been made comfortable equating contentedness with happiness or going so far as to call it joy. Part of his journey, of course, will be learning that contentedness is not passion is not joy and coming to terms with it all. 
> 
> Eventually, of course, I'll be writing a Crowley pov too! But so far, Aziraphale's voice seems to be the one more willing to speak up.
> 
> I'm also collecting prompts! I have 1 or 2 more before I'll be flailing for what other scenes to do so help and suggestions are appreciated!
> 
> Anyway! Twitter: <https://twitter.com/Great_Ass_aFire>  
> Tumblr: <https://d20owlbear.tumblr.com/>
> 
> All my graphics/photomanips are there plus you can find updates on anything if you send me an ask or message! I also take graphic/banner/emoji requests and writing prompts/requests.


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